Finishing up the following school day and going down to see about this 'friendly game'

You feel a sense of contentment and pleasant exhaustion wash over you as you shake the last few droplets of cum away. You lean against the faux-brick wall of the secluded, ivy-overgrown set of steps and listen to the pleasant aftermath of indignant protests in a breathy feminine voice.

After meeting up with a couple more students after classes yesterday, you'd woken up on a mission this morning: to spread your seed as wide as possible. This has been the 8th time you'd filled up an unprotected pussy today, thanks to your quick acquisition of a small local business and leveraging an hydraulics license you'd picked up to pad your resume as a ship's crewwoman. You'd claimed to be there to inspect a minor fault in the water systems... turned out they were fine, but you've still been doing a fine job of 'laying pipe' thanks to the insatiable demand for cheap cheat-sheets.

The seventh time you'd gotten laid today, in a study hall, had been with a buxom brunette sophomore who kept chewing her gum even when she was nonchalantly tossing one of her legs over your shoulder and accepting your cock into her tight twat. She'd been haughtily acting like nothing you did to her felt good at all, rudely popping bubbles with her gum the whole time. But eventually, the 'bubble popping' had been the tip of the condom. She'd been quite irate and gave you a red cheek with a hard slap... as if it was your fault her own condom broke! Actually it was, of course, but she didn't know that.

Yet not all of the students spread their legs for you quite that easily; an hour after inseminating the bubble gum brat, your final customer of the day had started to get cold feet and said she'd "think about it and contact you in a few days maybe". You'd followed her and, in an impressive display of your forceful personality, managed to convince her there was no harm in a little extra help, and that there was no risk in paying with your preferred method so long as you were 'safe'. You're actually sort of glad that the dormitories are so hard to gain entry to - fucking these enticing young women out in public spaces really adds spice to the already thrilling game you're playing.

As you come back to your senses from the rush of your latest orgasm you hear a sharp gasp and a faint 'pffllpp-p-p' sound. What was this girl's name again? It was something hard to pronounce... Bhavana, you think. Petite but with nice little breasts that you'd enjoyed squeezing, she's one of the smaller students here at barely five feet. Fortunately her platform heels had left her supple light-brown butt at just the right height when she bent over the railing for you to stuff your girthy futa cock into her. She's turning around to look at you in shock. She has a very pretty face, clearly of south asian descent, with almond-shaped eyes and full, lustrous black hair with ribbons in it. Her white blouse was a little more conservative than most of the students here and her skirt cut a little less short.

But you've got quite a bit of practice seducing girls, so within a mere 20 minutes of giving you that first kiss of those soft lips, she has wound up in her current situation: with that 'less slutty' full length blouse unbuttoned, that plaid skirt rucked up around her waist, damp black panties down around her knees, and babbling nervously about pregnancy as she sees the torn condom bunched up around the base of your deflating cock.

The 'pfffpp-p-p' sound you heard was her pussy-lips expelling trapped air from your vigorous fuck session in the form of messy cum bubbles. You're unable to suppress a proud smirk like the cat who ate the canary as you observe the absolute mess you've made of the dusky-skinned girl's hairless pussy. Thick globs of futa cum messily tumble out of her slit as she squeezes. Her puckered asshole visibly tightneing shows that the feeling of a long, sticky strand of pearly white sliding down past her clit and dangling from her labial lips is making her anxious to say the least.

After pumping twenty of these privileged and oh-so-easily-seduced college girls full of dangerously potent cum you find yourself getting brazen. Rather than false reassurance you give her a condescending spank on her exposed ass as she waggles her butt from side to side, mewling inarticulately: "Ahhh, oh my god, it's so hot! I can't get pregnant like this...!"

"Looks like those rubbers weren't as carefully transported as they should've been," you say breezily. "Good luck, dear. On the bright side, if it sticks... I've always thought that tan redheads were really cute."

Bhavana mutters indignantly at you as she pulls her panties back up and stumbles off awkwardly. You'll call this a successful day, alright. You have a keen sense for people's motivation, and you think the indignity will prevent those girls from gossiping about the creampies they've been receiving (from you and the many other perverts enjoying their company), but not forever. You'll have perhaps one more day before word has gotten around that the latest batch of gray-market prophylactics sold by Blake's sorority are defective.

You certainly intend to keep on about your business of being a bad influence on the student body, but you still have things to consider. Those mature, proud teachers your own age or older are a taste you want to enjoy before you leave, too (not the male ones of course... that one you'd let fuck you in his supply closet was disappointing, and only managed to make you cum because you'd been imagining what you were about to do the lass in glasses you were flirting with before he interrupted you). The female teachers might not be as naturally fecund as their charges, but that's why you stacked the deck the way you did. Teachers aren't worth any bonus points either - too commonplace a profession - but you think Claire would really enjoy hearing about, or better yet, watching a recording of, such a breeding session. Unfortunately, without the leverage provided by the cheating materials it's not nearly as easy to get them to drop their panties for the likes of you.

You sneak off the Academy grounds, having left behind another bunch of slutty students loaded with sperm. Since you do still need to pay for fuel, supplies and berths, you check what kind of shipping contracts are available. Sure enough, it's mostly just what is euphemistically categorized as 'organic molecules'... largely the result of recycled human waste, re-sold to poorer stations for the dirty, labor-intensive work of reprocessing into various chemicals. A wealthy station like this consumes a lot but produces little of value. You would be indignant about needing to turn your prized ship into a glorified septic tank for these snooty, hypocritical prigs, but your visit here is going to burden St. Applegate with a lot of extra waste to deal with in the form of used diapers over the next few years, so you'll call it a fair trade.

It also comes to mind that since many of the young ladies at the Academy of Saint Vivian are quite naughty, there might be some graduates looking to have some adventures on seedy planets before they settle down into proper jobs and marriages so you post an open passenger contract with a 'recent graduates discount'... you know some certain studios such girls would be a perfect fit for.

With that in mind, after resting up until early evening, you change into a cute halter top and short-shorts (no longer having as pressing a need to hide the bulge around your hips) to meet your earlier passenger. On your way there, you check to see how your score is doing.

You feel a warm pleasant flush spread across your face as you see there's a new notification. Although your score hasn't gone up yet, it has taken note of the fact that a standard feature in your high-tech wrist communicator had been sending you helpful warning messages, two of them:

WARNING! Contraceptive failure detected! Our scans indicate that a recent sexual partner who verbally expressed a desire to avoid insemination is currently ovulating. Possibility of pregnancy is estimated at over 50%. You may be at risk of legal liability and/or social censure.

The timestamps show you who the warnings are referring to: That redhead who bent over for you in exchange for the test answers, whose name you never got even after you unloaded a pint of hot cum into her. And the geeky bespectacled blonde who'd been peeping on you fucking your way out of trouble when her teacher caught you hitting on her, only for you to fuck his student atop her desk while he was getting his clothes back on.

And then there's your new additional side game. The excited warmth in you spreads further as you see that you score now lists you as having no fewer than 6 'impregnation assists'. Since pregnancies don't register until the fertilized egg implants (on account of the medical scanners on this station being a bit less invasive and the lack of bio-monitoring implants among the students), it's quite possible that both your personal score and your assists are already fated to increase much further over the next week as girls who've been providing their partners with your faulty condoms experience an ill-timed ovulation.

Jonas is waiting right outside of a sealed door that says it leads to the 'Arcadian Green Club'. You are a bit mystified about how even as wealthy a colony as this managed to fit an entire golf course into a space station without being prohibitively expensive. The enigmatic businessman who you ferried here is alone, wearing a pair of puffy shorts, a sweater vest and a rather un-stylish pancake hat. He seems to be alone.

Hmph. It's looking more and more likely that this guy wanted to challenge you to a game or two in hopes that you wager too much and end up 'working out a payment plan' that will involve both of you having your pants around your ankles. You are quite sure he knows you're a futa, and those are rare here due to the Milky Way Church's discrimination against them... so far as you know, they don't shun futas completely, but consider them 'unnatural' and expect them to commit to a life of celibacy for their male half, never using their cocks for anything even if they're married to a woman. You can't imagine many want to submit to that kind of deprivation, so not many stay in the church.

You consider coming up with an excuse to leave, but you don't have any more students to meet with today... and it's worth at least trying to win some money, as this trip has proven to be quite expensive for your bank account already. Women are your preference, but fellow futas aren't always easy to hook up with when you feel the need to give your pussy some attention, and vibrators are no substitute for the real thing.

"Hi there. I hope you aren't planning to take undue advantage of my inexperience at this game. I've only played simulated golf, never the real thing, let alone on a space station." you say. "I hope you brought enough clubs to share?"

"Oh yes, there'll be plenty to go around. But don't worry. At least one of the others I invited is... well, you'd be a rare find if you manage to be a worse player." Jonas says with a smirk. "Ah! Speak of the devil! I hope you didn't overhear that, Fred? All in good fun, right?"

A sour expression crosses your lips as someone else steps out of the tiny hover golf-cart that pulls up next to Jonas as he speaks. At least Jonas is a good looking guy, but that's not how you'd describe his other guest. Dressed similarly to Jonas, this 'Fred' is of a build that could generously be described as 'stocky', with a balding head and a hapless face, with an appearance that puts you in mind of the kind of guy who'd be manning the desk at a customs checkpoint. Even in an era when genemods and other technology could make anyone hot, some people kept their natural appearance, either out of lack of money (unlikely on this station), religious conviction (much more likely) or egotistic principle.

Damn it, you think to yourself; did Jonas sucker you out here so he could try and pimp you out to some ugly golf buddy of his as a favor? You're already mentally composing your curt excuse for why you'll be leaving when you notice that 'Fred', rather than staring at your goddess-like curves, has his gaze fixed on a computer pad in his hand. Rather than looking excited about a golf game, or getting to spend time with a beauty like you, he's staring down at the screen with consternation.

"Yeah, uh... sorry, Jon. I think I'm gonna have to cancel. Shit, shit, shit... uh, pardon my language, miss." he barely spares you a glance. You almost feel insulted - he ISN'T going to try and talk you into a game with sexual stakes after Jonas lured you here?

"What? Oh, c'mon, Fred," Jonas says with clear disappointment. "I'm only on this station for a couple more days, you know that. Whatever it is, it can wait. Besides Amanda here, I've got a couple more guests coming who I think you'd enjoy getting to meet..."

"Uh... I'm not sure it can. It's, uh... well, you see I had a little slip-up accident a couple days ago." Fred clears his throat. "Actually, I hate to ask, Jon, but... do you think you could maybe, possibly help me out of this? Um, let's step over to the side. No discourtesy meant, Miss." he nods briefly in your direction.

Okay, now your curiosity is piqued. You HAVE to snoop. Fortunately, you're enhanced well enough to do just that.